


The Maker has Made of Me a Husband

by Scarlett_Oakenshield



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Droid husbands, Fluff, Free Verse, Husbands, M/M, Poetry, Rhyming, c-3po is lovestruck, droids in love, soft bois, wholesome fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 17:02:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18392609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlett_Oakenshield/pseuds/Scarlett_Oakenshield
Summary: C-3PO reflects upon his first encounter with R2-D2 and reminisces about his romantic feelings towards the other droid in his own robot way."It seems the Maker has made of me a husband,In this intergalactic madness we droids have been shoved in."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've written the poem in the second person, but if you don't like it, the next "chapter" is written in first person using he/him.

_The Maker has Made of Me a Husband: C-3PO’s Love Poem to R2-D2_

 

I wake up in the dark.

“Oh dear,” I say, “Where is everybody?”

 

A boy says “Oops.”

Screws something into my head.

 

My vision comes into focus.

 

“Oh!” I say, “Hello. I am…” I stutter,

“C-3PO. Human/Cyborg relations. How might I serve you?”

 

A girl says “He’s perfect”

She’s talking about me…I think…

“O-oh?” I reply, for I can’t think of much else to say,

I feel? _Feel?_ Odd. 

 

I think the Maker calls it bashful. 

I take some shaky steps forward,

With the whir of my mechanics as I move.

My legs, they tremble.

 

“I-I’m not sure this floor is entirely stable…”

I stutter and say, and then I hear something,

A noise, a short “blip” says _“Hey.”_

 

“Oh!” I answer abruptly, I look onward.

At the corner of the room, I spy you.

Small, cylindrical, silver, white, and blue.

Delighted, I greet you.

 

“Hello!” I say, “I don’t believe we have been introduced.”

High pitched whistles and beeps shrill:

_“Hey, hey, hey! I’m R2-D2.”_

“R2-D2? A pleasure to meet you!

Whee. _“Yee!”_

“I am C-3PO, human/cyborg relations”

 

You move up down and speak once more,

Silver head and white body turn towards my feet on the floor.

You give me a once over,

 From toe to head

And head to toe.

 

The whole time: chittering, beeping, and whistling, you don’t cease to show.  

Whatever you’re saying is too vulgar for me to make sense of,

Until I pick up the phrase, “ _Ooo la, la, You’re naked.”_

 

The jest, I admit, takes me aback.

“I beg your pardon? What do you mean, ‘naked’?

Chitter, chatter, chitter. You patter. Amused.

 

My realization is quite unenthused.

“My _parts_ are showing!? My Goodness!”

For I cannot believe something so vulgar and jarring

Could come out of someone so small and so charming.

 

Tch, tch, tch, tch, tch.

_“Keh keh keh keh keh.”_

This sound you make can only be described as laughing.

My internal temperature grows hot upon

Your chaffing.

 

Around my cheek is warmest of all.

And my flustered state is nothing small,

As you continue your swishy cat call.

_“Hey, you don’t look bad._

_It’s just wiring, after all._

_With or without clothes,_

_I think you’re quite cute.”_

 

“What does that mean, ‘cute’!?” I demand.

Beep, beep, boop.

_“’Means you’re attractive, shoot.”_

 

Your words befuddle,

Yet I find warmth in the muddle.

The gears in my head are spinning.

The fans in my chest are churning,

Like feathers, fluttering.

My wiring sends rippling electricity, shocking.

This is overdrive talking.

 

In my core, a new sensation

I’ve never felt before.

I think I was programmed

To have this feeling:

That it is you, Artoo, I must adore.

Though then I didn’t understand what for.

   

_‘But tell the Maker,’_ You say,

_I said to leave bare your tummy._

_It’ll look good, your torso is tall._

_I’m small._

_We’ll go good together_

_After all.’_

 

Upon this strange encounter, I began a happy fall.

I didn’t know this then, but I know now,

That’s what this feeling is called.

 

Many years to the day,

We’re well-functioning and gay.

 

You’re still by my side.

Always with your crude, flirty chatter, forever alive.

 

You roll towards the table where I write this prose I’ve planned.

Then you nudge the stately stylus in my hand,

And you “beep, boop, beep” the words that only a lover can.

 

I look down and think to myself:

“Oh goodness, how long this poem ran…

Oh my, how I do feel what humans call “love”,

You were right all along, Artoo, those devious delusions you dreamed of.

 

It seems the Maker has made of me a husband,

In this intergalactic madness we droids have been shoved in.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The Maker has Made of Me a Husband: C-3PO’s Poem to R2-D2

I wake up in the dark. 

"Oh dear,” I say, “Where is everybody?”

 

A boy says “Oops.”

Screws something into my head.

 

My vision comes into focus. 

 

“Oh!” I say, “Hello. I am…” I stutter,

“C-3PO. Human/Cyborg relations. How might I serve you?”

 

A girl says “He’s perfect”

She’s talking about me…I think…

“O-oh?” I reply, for I can’t think of much else to say,

I feel? _Feel?_ Odd.  

 

I think the Maker calls it bashful.  

I take some shaky steps forward,

With the whir of my mechanics as I move.

My legs, they tremble.

 

“I-I’m not sure this floor is entirely stable…”

I stutter and say, and then I hear something,

A noise, a short “blip” says “Hey.”

 

“Oh!” I answer abruptly, I look onward.

At the corner of the room, I spy him.

Small, cylindrical, silver, white, and blue.

Delighted, I greet him.

 

“Hello!” I say, “I don’t believe we have been introduced.”

 

High pitched whistles and beeps shrill:

_“Hey, hey, hey! I’m R2-D2.”_

“R2-D2? A pleasure to meet you!

Whee1  _“Yee!”_

“I am C-3PO, human/cyborg relations”

 

He moves up down and speaks once more,

Silver head and white body turn towards my feet on the floor.

He gives me a once over,

 From toe to head

And head to toe.

 

The whole time: chittering, beeping, and whistling, he doesn't cease to show.  

Whatever he's saying is too vulgar for me to make sense of,

Until I pick up the phrase, _“_ Ooo _la, la, You’re naked.”_

 

The jest, I admit, takes me aback.

“I beg your pardon? What do you mean, ‘naked’?

Chitter, chatter, chitter. He patters. Amused.

 

My realization is quite unenthused.

“My _parts_ are showing!? My Goodness!”

For I cannot believe something so vulgar and jarring

Could come out of someone so small and so charming.

 

_Tch, tch, tch, tch, tch._

“Keh keh keh keh keh.”

This sound he makes can only be described as laughing.

My internal temperature grows hot upon

His chaffing.

 

Around my cheek is warmest of all.

And my flustered state is nothing small,

As he continues his swishy catcall.

 

_“Hey, you don’t look bad._

_It’s just wiring, after all._

_With or without clothes,_

_I think you’re quite cute.”_

 

“What does that mean, ‘cute’!?” I demand.

Beep, beep, boop.

_“’Means you’re attractive, shoot.”_

 

His words befuddle,

 Yet I find warmth in the muddle.

The gears in my head are spinning.

The fans in my chest are churning,

 

Like feathers, fluttering.

My wiring sends rippling electricity, shocking.

This is overdrive talking.

 

In my core, a new sensation

I’ve never felt before.

I think I was programmed

To have this feeling:

 

That it is you, Artoo, I must adore.

Though then I didn’t understand what for.

 

 

_‘But tell the Maker,’_ He says,

_I said to leave bare your tummy._

_It’ll look good, your torso is tall._

_I’m small._

_We’ll go good together_

_After all.’_

 

 

Upon this strange encounter, I began a happy fall.

I didn’t know this then, but I know now,

That’s what this feeling is called.

 

Many years to the day,

We’re well-functioning and gay.

He's still by my side.

 Always with his crude, flirty chatter, forever alive.

 

He rolls towards the table where I write this prose I’ve planned.

Then nudges the stately stylus in my hand,

And he “beep, boop, beeps” the words that only a lover can.

 

I look down and think to myself:

_“Oh goodness, how long this poem ran…_

_Oh my, how I do feel what humans call “love”,_

_You were right all along, Artoo, those devious delusions you dreamed of."_

 

It seems the Maker has made of me a husband,

In this intergalactic madness, we droids have been shoved in.

 


End file.
